A Long-Necked Elephant

“What’s this?” Dad asked, wrapping his left arm around his shoulder, while his right arm dangled in front.

“A giraffe,” I answered.

Dad sighed exaggeratedly and sat down on the floor. “It’s alright. Think again, try one more time.”

I scrunched up my face, furrowing my eyebrows in concentration.

Just then, Mom passed by, carrying a laundry basket. “The one with long nose is an elephant, the one with long neck is a giraffe.”

“Oh honey! Why did you give the answer away?” With feigned annoyance, Dad thumped on the ground as he pulled out a coconut candy from his pocket. “Now, who should I be giving this prize to?”

I jumped up in panic, eager to get the candy in his hand, “The one with long nose is an elephant, the one with long neck is a giraffe, the one with long nose an elephant, the one with long neck…”

Both Mom and Dad laughed, but they quickly realised that something was wrong—I couldn’t stop babbling and spun in place like a malfunctioning robot vacuum. They tried to stop me, but I kept going, pushing Mom away while chanting, “Long neck, long neck, long neck…”

With no other choice, Dad had to grab my shoulders with his strong arms, holding me down as he clicked on the reset button hidden at the back of my head.

My consciousness plunged into an overwhelming darkness. Some time later, Dad said it had just been a minute, but when I reawakened, I found myself in Mom’s arms. She was frantically checking my limbs, and after making sure I was okay, she yelled at Dad, “What were you thinking? Are you crazy?”

Dad scratched his chest awkwardly, unsure of what to do. “The manual says that you can shut it down temporarily and reboot it if something goes wrong.”

Mom clenched her teeth as she held me tighter in her arms. “If you ever hurt my son again,” she held me up as she spoke menacingly, “I would never forgive you”.

I stared blankly at their faces, unsure of what was going on, I wished I were the real Tong Xin, he would surely know what was happening. Then, of course, the real Tong Xin wouldn’t malfunction like a robot vacuum.

Under Mom’s glare, Dad picked up the laundry basket and slunk off into the bathroom. Mom placed me on the kitchen counter and began cleaning my wounds with the ointment from the first aid kit.

“Does it hurt?” Her touch was gentle, and the way she blew on my shoulder tickled, so I laughed. Hearing my laughter, Mom’s expression suddenly turned stiff.

Realising that I had probably done something wrong, I quickly composed myself, folding my hands neatly on my knees.

Mom noticed the change in me and sighed softly. She continued to clean my wounds gently, blowing on them. Afterwards, she wiped down the countertop with a disinfectant wipe and then, out of nowhere, muttered, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I asked.

She smiled and shook her head, but the next moment, her smile crumbled. Mom turned her head away, tears welled up in her eyes.

I gently hugged her from the side, feeling her sadness. After she calmed down a bit, I asked her why she was crying. She hadn’t expected me to peek over and stepped back in surprise.

I withdrew my empty arms with an anxious smile.

“I just… I just…” Mom took a deep breath, leaning against the kitchen counter in a more comfortable position while absentmindedly fumbling with the lid of the first aid kit, “We just… don’t know how to deal with you.”

—–

“Honey, something’s wrong!” Dad suddenly popped out of nowhere, interrupting the awkward conversation, his face full of panic, “The washing machine just exploded.”

Mom rushed to the scene, where soapy water splashed everywhere, with Dad following behind like a puppy being scolded.

While Mom was speaking with the customer support online, explaining that the problem wasn’t with the appliance itself but a user error, Dad quietly slipped out of the bathroom, scooped me off the counter, and tiptoed out the house.

I rested my chin on his shoulder, watching our house turn smaller and smaller as we walked further away from it. I tugged on his collar. “What about Mom?”

“Your mom will handle it.” He patted me with his big hand. “How about we go get some burgers?”

“Burgers?” I squealed happily like a groundhog.

“Cheeseburger, crispy chicken burger, cod fillet burger, salmon burger, bacon and egg burger…” I pointed at the mouthwatering pictures on the brochure.

“Kid,” Dad teased, playfully tugging on my ear, “You can’t even tell elephant and giraffe apart, but you can remember all these burgers?”

I giggled. Dad pushed me toward the kids’ play area to play with balls, while he chatted with the other dads about how hard it was to raise kids. After we finished eating, he took me to get a cup of bubble tea, and then chose a long, winding route home. He didn’t want to get back too early—he needed to let Mom cool down a bit before presenting the bubble tea as a peace offering to her.

My new little brogues clacked as it steps on the asphalt, creating a beat that I liked.

Splat, as we went along, I heard the sound of a splatter and looked down to see that my shoes got wet. Confused, I asked Dad what happened.

He pointed off into the distance. “There’s a leakage over there.”

I’d already learned about “water” from the washing machine incident earlier, but seeing my reflection in the puddle stirred something playful in me, the kind of mischief that came naturally to an eight-year-old. I stuck out my butt and jumped into the puddle, stomping around to make a joyful, chaotic rhythm.

At first, Dad scolded me and tried to stop me from making a mess. But then a truck passed by, and Dad was splashed with the puddle of muddy water. This man, who had been carrying the guilt and pain of losing his son for four years, jumped into the puddle as well and started stomping madly in the water. He kept going until he was exhausted, covered in mud from head to toe. Dad kneeled in the puddle, his sobs spilling through the gaps of his fingers as he covered his face.

With my muddy hands, I sculpted a poop-shaped mound for him—the same shape we’d seen in The Poop Book this morning, the picture book taught us about what comes out of us while sitting on the toilet.

Dad grabbed my mischievous hands, pulled me into his embrace as he sobbed above my head, “If only… If only you were really my son… If only you were my son…”

—–

After crying for a while, Dad decisively picked me up and carried me out of the puddle. “We’re not homeless,” he said. “We have a home, and that’s where we’re going.”

Although the journey home didn’t seem to go so smoothly. Dad sat me on a fence post, telling me to keep quiet while he went to the garage to get a hose to clean us up. The plan was going well—until Mom, chasing after the garbage truck, caught us red-handed.

Mom was so furious that she dropped the garbage bag, which ended up tumbling down the street. And Dad, quick as lightning, grabbed the bag off the ground and dashed toward the garbage truck like a madman, leaving me standing there all alone, clutching the hose.

Mom took the hose, grabbed my hand, and led me back inside. She silently put me in the shower and said not a single word throughout.

Not long after, a soggy, mud-covered figure peeked through the door. “Honey, I’m freezing.” One glance from Mom sent him scurrying back outside.

“Wash yourself in the yard.”

“That’s cold water,” he protested, trying to squeeze inside as he hunched his shoulders, only for Mom to grab him by the hair and pull him back.

“So, you knew that the water is cold, and yet you let our son, who’s been hospitalised for so long, get soaked like this. What if he catches a cold?”

“Dear, now’s not the time to worry about our son,” Dad said, stepping into the shower, “Your son’s father is about to freeze to death.”

As Dad forcibly pushed himself in, Mom tumbled into the shower with us, and the three of us burst into laughter. Dad smeared some mud onto my face, and I sneakily left a handprint on Mom’s blue T-shirt, right in the middle of her belly.

The next morning, the sun seemed brighter than usual. Dad made fried eggs, grilled fish, and banana yoghurt. I ate a lot, hoping that later in the bathroom, I’d produce something as perfect as the shapes from The Poop Book. I’ve even drank every last drop of juice in my cup. Mom ate her breakfast quietly, pretending not to notice Dad and me goofing around, though the slight curve of her lips betrayed her amusement.

Everything was going great until Mom picked up the cup filled with pale green liquid.

“Tong Yichuan,” she called out Dad’s full name, shaking the cup in the air. “What is this?”

Dad was peeling the banana like a gorilla. Without thinking, he casually replied, “Kiwi juice.” The moment he said it, he froze, his eyes shifting toward me immediately.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, trying to stick my tongue to the bottom of my cup to get the last drop. At the same time, a fiery sensation spread from my stomach all the way up to my throat. I doubled over, vomiting green liquid.

—–

In the ambulance, Mom kept on berating Dad, scolding him for forgetting that I was allergic to kiwi juice.

“The kiwi was a free gift from the supermarket’s anniversary event,” Dad mumbled from the corner, rolling his eyes discreetly. He wanted to say that Mom had brought the kiwi home, but he didn’t dare.

“I just wanted to make some fresh juice for our son,” he said, gesturing “sorry” to me with a sheepish look.

“You call that making juice? You were trying to kill him!” Mom’s voice suddenly rose, and the nurse beside her quickly tried to calm her down. No one noticed how flushed my face had become, or how my breathing grew more and more laboured. The intense feeling of suffocation nearly swallowed me whole.

I was sinking into an endless void when a strange voice escaped my throat, eventually I drifted into unconsciousness, enveloped in darkness.

—–

“Mom…” The voice, hoarse and weak like a tyre scraping against rough pavement, was forcing out of my throat, “Mom…”

The woman, who had been furiously pulling at her husband, froze. Like a puppet, she slowly turned her head, her voice tentative. “Tong Xin, my baby?”

The boy called out again, his voice no louder than a kitten’s call. The woman collapsed in front of the stretcher, sobbing uncontrollably.

“What’s going on, honey?” The man, still confused, asked, “Darling?”

The woman held the boy’s face, unwilling to let go for even a millisecond.

The man finally realised that something was not right. He knelt down and gently touched his wife’s tear-streaked cheek. “Is it… is it our son?”

“Small-headed…Dad,” the boy said, still pale and lying on the stretcher, his eyes curved like crescent moon.

It wasn’t until later that I learned “Small-headed Dad” was a special nickname between Tong Xin and his dad, because he always wanted to be the “Big-headed Son” in the cartoon that they used to watch together; always carefree and full of energy, even in the rain.

I woke up for a little during the time in the hospital.

Mom was carefully blowing on the hot soup dumpling to cool it down, while Dad was meticulously preparing pineapple with something that looked like tweezers. Even though I hated the taste of pineapple, I ate every last piece of it.

I wasn’t awake for long, and my memories of the hospital were hazy. I could only remember the dark grey tiles of the hospital, marked with colourful tapes to indicate the different paths. A view I saw because Dad was carrying me on his shoulders. There were ceiling fans spinning above us, and Mom was telling Dad to be careful.

When did they figure out that I wasn’t Tong Xin?

After we got into the car, I noticed Mom glancing at my right foot from time to time. I followed her gaze and noticed a broken patch on the back of the front seat—I found out later that Tong Xin had a habit of kicking the front seat with his right foot whenever he sat in his child safety seat.

He never stayed still, while I always sat obediently.

Dad was driving us home, excitedly sharing about the new parks that are opening and the upcoming movies in the cinema, while Mom sat quietly, occasionally responding.

When we reached home, Dad carried me on his shoulders, just like before.

The house had changed. The hallway was filled with balloons, and countless little dinosaur models hid in there.

Dad pulled out a mask hidden under his shirt and placed it on my face, sitting me down in the dinosaur-themed playground he’d made for me. I carefully touched the sharp teeth of the models, when suddenly, one of the dark brown dinosaurs blinked, scaring me as I fell backwards onto the ground.

Dad lifted me up with his strong arms. The joyful light in his eyes dimmed as he pinched my cheeks and touched my forehead. Then, he carried me into the deep-sea-themed bedroom, placed me on the bed, and left.

I heard the door close and Dad’s slightly frustrated voice, “You knew that he wasn’t Tong Xin anymore?”

There was a long silence before Dad spoke again.

“Since when?”

“I noticed on the way back,” Mom replied.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why let me make a fool of myself, preparing all this for nothing…”

“It’ll be okay, it’ll get better,” Mom’s voice was warm, yet distant.

I wanted to hug one of the little dinosaurs, but neither Mom nor Dad called me.

After that, I never saw the little dinosaurs again, and no one mentioned them again.

I knew they wanted the real Tong Xin. I’ve tried calling for him, but there was no response. If I could, I really wished that I’d be able to make them happy.

—–

The next morning, I woke up very early. Wearing my crocodile slippers and carrying The Poop Book, I went to find Dad in the living room. He put down the electronic tablet, on which he was browsing the news, and said, “Oh, it’s you.”

For some reason, his gaze felt icy behind the glasses.

For a long time after that, whenever Mom and Dad saw me in the morning, they’d always seem quite disappointed. I felt a little sad, too, though I tried not to show it. I focused on my breakfast instead, happily scooping the green peas from my bowl with a spoon. As if playing hide-and-seek with me, one of the peas rolled onto the table, and another slipped down to the foot of the chair.

Dad was on the phone, and Mom was heating up some milk. I quickly snatched the pea off the table and popped it into my mouth; my mind was racing, trying to come up with an idea of how I could pick up the one on the floor without anyone noticing.

Dad hung up the phone and sat back down at the table, looking serious.

“What’s wrong?” Mom asked.

“My parents… they are here to visit us,” Dad said, but before he could finish, Mom cut him off angrily.

“No way, Tong Yichuan, did you forget what turned our son into this?”

“They know that they’re at fault,” Dad said, wringing his hands awkwardly. “But we can’t avoid them forever.”

Mom slammed the kettle down, but before she could say more, Dad cut in, “They’ve already arrived at our street.” Before anyone could react, he quickly picked me up and rushed upstairs, carrying me in his arms.

Mom followed closely behind, watching as Dad stuff me into a closet. “What are you doing?” she asked, stupefied.

“They’re getting old,” Dad said, holding the closet’s door with one hand. “They might not understand why we’re doing this.” He looked into her eyes. “You don’t want to waste your breath explaining it to them either, do you?”

“Just let him stay in the bedroom then,” Mom insisted.

“They might want to see Tong Xin’s room, we need to be prepared,” Dad was still trying to persuade Mom when the doorbell rang. As the closet door closed, I saw Mom mouth these words to me—

“I’m sorry.”

The time in the closet wasn’t as unbearable as I’d imagined. I could play with shadows using the light seeping through the door gap, or stir up dust particles floating in the air.

In the middle of my imaginary battle with dust demons, the closet door swung open, and Mom scooped me into her arms, covering my face with kisses. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, my baby…”

It was much later that I gradually understood, the ones responsible for the accident that left Tong Xin comatose were his grandparents, the hunched figures I saw through the closet’s door gap the other day were them.

——

Occasionally—and I mean very occasionally—I wondered, if it weren’t for their mistake, I wouldn’t have existed.

But I always try to push those thoughts out of my mind. My programme wasn’t exactly a blank slate, to improve user experience, the everyday concepts of life were already “written” into my system, just waiting to be triggered. The purpose was to allow the user to enjoy the satisfaction of raising me without facing the difficulties. So, I could tell that Dad was “cheating”.

—–

Due to the long coma, I needed help from a specialist to slowly restore the functions of my physical body. The hospital was far from home, and my situation was a bit unique, so after some discussions, the hospital had arranged for a therapist to come to our house four times a week.

The therapist was a chubby girl with freckles. And, for four times every week, Dad would put me in the closet and switch off my consciousness when Mom’s not around.

Apparently, during the time that “I” was in coma, she was the one responsible for my care. I don’t know if the real Tong Xin knew about this, but I was thankful that it was me who needed to be shut down and shoved in the closet.

Today, when Dad was trying to switch me off, that chubby girl was slipping her ringed hand into his shirt. His hand slipped and missed the button. So, I could see them leave, wrapped in each other’s arms. I could also see the sunlight filtering through the railings, casting shadows around me like a birdcage.

Honestly, I don’t know why I did what I did. I slipped out of the closet quietly, crept down the stairs, and grabbed the phone to dial Mom’s number.

When her voice came through the receiver, it hit me—I didn’t know what to say.

First, she called Dad’s name. Then, after a pause, she called mine.

I couldn’t tell if she was calling out to her son, or the virtual programme that’s inhabiting her son’s body. I don’t think she knew either. I hoped that the difference between the two wasn’t so clear-cut in her heart. Panicked, I hung up the phone and returned to the closet, curling up with knees to my chest, just like before.

Dad never noticed that I had left and returned. Therefore, when Mom came home, worried about that silent phone call, she walked in just in time to catch him.

Devastated, Mom screamed for my name. She rescued me from the closet, pushed Dad away despite his desperate pleas, and drove off with me in her Beetle car.

“I’m sorry, we didn’t have time to grab your safety seat,” Mom said to me.

“It’s okay,” I replied, clutching onto the seatbelt of the front passenger seat.

After a long stretch of silence, Mom suddenly spoke. “Was it you who made that call?”

Before I could answer, she added, “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“It’s fine,” I said, “I’m just glad the real Tong Xin didn’t see that.”

Mom pulled the car over to the side and gently touched my face. “My son, Tong Xin, you really can’t sense him, can you?”

I shook my head. Since we came back from the hospital, he hadn’t appeared again.

Mom lowered her gaze, seeming a little sorrowful. “And you? Do you ever feel sad?”

I smiled brightly. “I don’t have that in my programme.” Then, I recited the information embedded into my “genes”: “My mission is to help the patient who has been comatose for 4 years and 3 months regain consciousness. I’m a virtual programme. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Mom hugged me tightly. “I’m happy. Right now, I’m very happy.”

That day, we drove for a long time before finally arriving at the beach, a place I’ve only ever seen through a computer screen.

The sea breeze was different from the wind that skimmed through the grass in the yard or the gentle breeze of the birds’ wings. The wind here was rageous, whipping and howling along the endless coastline. The word ‘freedom’ surged into my mind, carried by the fierce force of the breeze, stirring something deep within me.

That day, Mom was all mine. She held my hand as we chased after the waves, the cool seawater splashing between our toes. We laughed and laughed.

During lunch, a brazen bird swooped down with terrifying speed, snatching the bread from the corner of my mouth.

Mom quickly pulled me into her arms and checked to see if I was alright. Once she was sure that I was only a bit startled, she pointed to the bird in the sky. “A seagull.”

“Bad bird,” I pouted.

Mom smiled and gave me her portion of the bread, gently rocking me back and forth. “Sweetheart, if—if I were to divorce your dad, would you be sad?” She then explained that divorce meant Mom and Dad wouldn’t live together anymore, but they would still love me.

Before I could respond, she laughed at herself. “I forgot, you wouldn’t feel sad. They’ve programmed your mind to block out negative emotions,” she said as she placed her hand on my head.

I hugged her back. “I wouldn’t feel sad or pain, but, I want you to be happy.”

“Do you even know what happiness is?” Mom asked with a sad smile.

“If thinking about Dad makes you feel down and upset, and you can’t smile anymore,” I said, “Then leave him, don’t worry about me.”

“How could I not think about you? If I do get divorced, I would definitely take you with me……” She paused, as if suddenly reminded that I wasn’t really her child.

“The real Tong Xin would want you to be happy too,” I said.

“Really?” Mom asked, tears began welling up in her eyes. “But he’s still so young. I don’t want him to grow up in a single-parent household like I did.”

I took her hand and placed it on my chest, which rose and fell with each breath. “He’s in here. I can feel it. We both want you to be happy.”

Mom nodded firmly, and for the first time, she smiled with relief and assurance.

—–

On the way back, Mom called a lawyer to begin the drafting the divorce paper. I curled up in the seat for a nap, feeling warm from the sunlight’s embrace.

But my dream was somehow dark and cold. Piercing screams rang in my ears as I clutched my head, trying to escape. The darkness reached out with all its limbs, holding me down firmly. It was heavy, so very heavy. Slowly, I sank deeper as the darkness turned into thick, suffocating mud. The invisible hands turned solid, gripping me tightly. I strained to turn my head as I suffocated, and then I saw a face—an exact replica of mine……

An explosive shatter jolted me awake. My eyelids felt so heavy, the world seemed to be opening and closing in front of me, as if I wasn’t seeing through my own eyes but through someone else’s.

“Something must be wrong,” I reminded myself to hold on. But the world suddenly flipped upside down. The metallic taste of blood started surging up, and the glass that I was holding slipped from my hand and crashed against the ceiling that had turned into the floor. My heart felt like it was about to burst out of my chest, and the light of the world extinguished in front of my eyes……

I could feel it—a gentle hand had been holding on to me the whole time.

Was it Mom? I wanted to smile at her and tell her that I was alright, but I couldn’t even open my eyes. All I could hear was her angry voice, scolding, “How could you—how could you give our son kiwi juice?”

“I just… wanted to keep you,” Dad said.

I remembered now. We had returned home, and Mom was packing her bags. After receiving a call from the lawyer about the divorce, Dad poured me a glass of juice.

Even though I clearly expressed that I didn’t need to ingest fluids, Dad still forced me to drink it. In the final second before I lost consciousness, I heard Mom’s furious shout, “This is murder!”

——

I slept for a long time this time, and when I woke up, it had already been half a month.

Mom was the first to notice. “It’s you.”

Her voice was calm, void of any emotions. Sitting by the hospital bed, I noticed that she looked thinner, her face more haggard. I reached out, hoping to wipe away the dark circles under her eyes.  “Where’s Dad? Did you get divorced?” I asked.

Mom lowered her head. Her neck, elegant and swan-like, held stiff and straight. After a moment, she slowly shook her head. “Your dad and I… we talked, and we’ve decided not to proceed with the divorce, for now.”

“Why?” I asked, eyes wide, seeing her pained expression. “Is it because of me?” I anxiously grabbed her hand. “Don’t think about me, you being happy is what matters most.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head slowly but firmly, her gaze seemingly detached.

Just then, the door burst open, and Dad walked in, arms full of bags. “Honey, I’m back,” he announced. Seeing me in bed, he excitedly exclaimed, “Son, look what I got you!”

“Hi, Dad.” I said, waving briefly before folding my hands neatly on my knees.

Dad froze in place, his mouth hanging open as he turned toward Mom. “Honey…”

Mom nodded, tears brimming in her eyes. All the bags dropped from his grasp and onto the floor. Dad ran out of the room like a madman, calling for the doctor, and Mom hurried after him.

The fruit baskets and pastry boxes scattered across the floor. I picked up an apple that no one cared about, holding it in my arms.

—–

The doctor—or more accurately, the professor—was the one who had initiated the project on utilising virtual consciousness to awaken coma patients. However, the research was still in the clinical trial phase, and he didn’t want too much exposure, so he was still referred to as a doctor in the hospital.

He ran numerous tests on me, and in the end, concluded that Tong Xin’s consciousness could only be awakened by physical discomfort, like an allergic reaction. Usually, the process of waiting for the virtual consciousness to awaken the comatose patient is slow, often taking years or even a lifetime. In Tong Xin’s case, it could be considered a blessing in disguise.

While they were talking to the doctor, the nurse who had been running the tests on me reminded me to take better care of Mom. Apparently, “I” had thrown such a tantrum when Mom and Dad wanted to proceed with the divorce, and the news had spread across the entire hospital. Mom had postponed the divorce because of “me.”

I wanted to find a chance to talk with Mom, but when she returned from the doctor’s office, she looked deeply worried. I figured it must be about me—no, about Tong Xin—not doing so well.

Like the previous time, Tong Xin hadn’t appeared again since I woke up.

“Mom,” I shifted a little on the bed, “Do you want to lie down for a bit?”

“I’m fine.” Mom shook her head, her face overlaid with exhaustion, weariness, and a brand of sorrow that I couldn’t quite read. “How are you feeling?”

I shook my head, wanting to say that I was fine, but the words wouldn’t come out. Because if I was fine, then it meant that Tong Xin wasn’t.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” She held me close, silent for a long time. “We’ve discussed with the doctor for a while, and we think we’ve found a way that could wake Tong Xin up.”

“That’s great.” I grabbed Mom’s hand. “It’s really great that Tong Xin could wake up,” I asked her how I could help.

Mom’s eyes widened. “Aren’t you,” she asked, “aren’t you sad?”

I shook my head, once again admiring how beautiful her eyes were. “I don’t have the mechanism for sadness. My existence was meant to awaken Tong Xin’s dormant consciousness.”

Mom’s warm hand ruffled my hair as she gently pulled me into her arms.

Staring at the greenish liquid, knowing it would soon trigger nausea and vomiting, I instinctively wanted to refuse. But seeing the expectant looks on Mom, Dad, and the doctor’s faces, I had no choice but to pinch my nose and gulp it down.

Unfortunately, aside from revisiting my breakfast from that morning, the expected scenario didn’t happen. The doctor said that as we experiment with the dosage of the kiwi juice, we were also training my body’s tolerance for it. Though complications from the allergy could be fatal, I was under constant medical supervision, so there was nothing to fear—except for the discomfort that came with it.

Over the next two weeks, I oscillated between bouts of diarrhoea and vomiting. Even though I was receiving desensitisation treatment simultaneously, it became more difficult to walk on my own, and even using the bathroom required assistance at some point.

One day, after slipping off the sink again, Mom cradled me in her arms, sobbing, “No more. We won’t try anymore, my sweetheart…'” She cried very hard—harder than when she had caught Dad cheating and was ready to divorce.

Dad tried convincing her to keep going, reminding her of the two times we had successfully awakened Tong Xin. The doctor agreed, saying that these symptoms were part of the process of in building the body’s tolerance.

Mom didn’t respond—she just cried and cried.

I struggled to lift my hand and wiped the tears that fell to her chin. “I’m okay, it’s okay,” I said, “I can continue drinking it.”

“No, no more, no more.” Mom said, holding my frail, withered body close to hers.

“I can do it. I was created to awaken Tong Xin’s dormant consciousness. I’ll help you bring back your son,” I promised her.

—–

After all our efforts, I finally fell into a deep sleep one month later.

When I woke up again, it was already Christmas. Tong Xin’s present was a complete set of Transformers, and Mom’s gift to me was a light blue blanket with dandelions prints.

I was happy. The bed was Tong Xin’s, the clothes were Tong Xin’s, the shoes and the toys were Tong Xin’s—everything belonged to Tong Xin. But today, I finally had something of my own—a little blanket that Mom had given me.

But the joy didn’t last. When Dad realised it was me, he fetched a huge glass of juice from the fridge.

From that point on, my memories became fragmented. Even Lunar New Year, the most significant holiday, was spent in a haze of sleep. But that meant that Tong Xin was constantly with his parents, who’d missed him very much.

Afterwards, my chances to resurface became fewer and fewer. Despite only gaining consciousness occasionally, I knew that Tong Xin had rekindled his friendships with the kids around him. To prevent any slip-ups, Dad always filled his water bottle with kiwi juice right to the brim.

In truth, I feared the day when I would be discarded as a medical waste when Tong Xin didn’t need me anymore.

Every virtual consciousness was programmed with one belief at creation—that an honourable death is the noblest end. It would mean that the one that we serve had fully recovered. Even though I knew that day was inevitable, I still prayed in my heart that it would come later, just a little later.

Tong Xin became more and more stable, nonetheless, the doctor believed the adolescence was still full of uncertainties, and my assistance was still needed. As a result, the removal procedure was not performed immediately.

What worries me, however, was this 9-year-old boy who had been living alongside me, seemed to have learned how to “summon” me……

The first time it happened, Tong Xin had injured his knee while learning how to skateboard, and the infected wound needed debridement.

After the injury, Tong Xin secretly poured the kiwi juice down the drain. When I woke up, his knee was swollen like a steamed bun, and the bandages had to be taken out for the infected tissue to be removed every day.

Though it hurt a lot, the chance to see Mom and be held in her arms made me feel like the luckiest virtual consciousness of all. Of course, on the first day I woke up, our switch was instantly noticed by the ever-observant Mom. She was furious. While she adored Tong Xin, she firmly believed that her son shouldn’t handle things this way.

I hadn’t seen Dad in a while, but there he was, holding her shoulders. “Don’t be mad. Isn’t that what the virtual consciousness is for? To shoulder the suffering of our son?”

Mom shook Dad’s hand off her shoulders, staring at him in shock. “You knew? No, wait,” she studied his expression, piecing together recent events before coming to a conclusion, “You and Tong Xin planned this together!”

“Wait for me,” she said, squeezing my frail shoulders before storming out of the hospital room, throwing a final remark at Dad as she passed, “I despise you.”

“What did I do wrong?” Dad yelled, chasing after her.

I was left alone in the room. I stretched out my hand, watching as the light filter through my fingers and smiled. “Hello, world.”

—–

Mom came back with the doctor. Although the doctor had some criticisms about what Dad and Tong Xin had done, he offered a solution—to lower my sensitivity to pain. While such a thing wasn’t possible for humans yet, I was a virtual programme, and only a few lines of code were required.

Even though the doctor reassured Mom that the debridement procedure would feel like no more than a mosquito bite to me, she hesitated. “I know, I know you can lower the pain through technology. I’m just worried that this will make Tong Xin think that he can always get away with things. And,” she glanced at me and added, “It’s not fair to this child either.”

Dad chuckled. “Are you kidding, honey? It’s not a person. It’s just a computer programme.”

The doctor paused before saying, “Virtual consciousness are created to heal comatose patients. But if it can take the place of the patient during surgeries, then perhaps this programme could serve other purposes too.”

Mom was about to argue further, but I hugged her waist. I told her that I wanted to listen to a bedtime story, I also wanted to watch SpongeBob.

Under the light, Mom’s tear-filled eyes sparkled like they held countless stars. After a long moment, she nodded gently.

After that, I didn’t resurface for a long time. I guess Mom must have been stricter with him.

It was spring when Tong Xin enrolled as a second grader, even though he’s old enough to be in fourth grade. Since he had only attended kindergarten before his coma, the school agreed to let him adapt in second grade first, with the possibility of skipping grades later.

By the time I woke up again, it was the second semester of third grade. Even though the adults had forbidden us from switching places, we made a private agreement: as long as I took the blame for him, Tong Xin would secretly dispose of the kiwi juice, giving me a chance to be with Mom again, so that I could hug her and have dinner with her. Those moments were precious to me, even if they always came with some form of punishment.

The last time I woke up, Tong Xin was caught cheating in an exam. I wonder what it was this time?

When Tong Xin fainted from anxiety, I naturally took over.

When I opened my eyes, I saw Mom’s enraged face. She was shaking my shoulders. “Did you do this? I’m asking you—did you do this?”

I wasn’t sure exactly what had happened, but the scene felt familiar. I lowered my head and whispered in a tiny voice, “Yes.”

Disappointment flooded my mother’s furious eyes. Then Dad, who had come in later, angrily dragged me over to a corner of the office, where a little girl cowered in her parents’ arms. “Apologise!”

“I’m… I’m sorry…” I said. The dishevelled girl didn’t even look at me; she screamed and ran out of the room. Her parents hurried after her, leaving a final remark to my dad, “This won’t be easily forgotten.” And urged the headmaster to handle this seriously.

The door slammed shut. The headmaster picked up his mug, then put it down again, his face grim. “I understand Tong Xin’s situation. I know that raising this child hasn’t been easy for you. But this time, it is a matter of moral character. He’s turning ten next month and he’s far too old for these kind of games. How could he lift a girl’s skirt right in front of everyone?”

“Yes,” Mom said, hanging her low as if she were the one at fault. “It is a failure in our upbringing. We’ll make sure to educate him properly when we get home.”

“This isn’t just about education. I’ve spoken with his teacher. Tong Xin’s grades are fine, but his behaviour is stuck at kindergarten level. He doesn’t hold himself to the standards of a third grader, and he doesn’t even seem to understand what he did was wrong.”

“Yes, yes, we are at fault. Next time……” Dad began, but the headmaster raised his hand to stop him.

“There won’t be a next time. You should start preparing the transfer paperwork for Tong Xin.”

—–

The drive home was unnervingly silent. Dad said nothing as he drove, and Mom quietly cried while holding the transfer documents from the school.

When we got home, Dad yanked the car door open and dragged me by the collar as if scruffing a cat, bringing me into the house. He closed the door behind him, grabbing the golf club on the way in and started beating me. My pain regulation wasn’t set, so my ear-piercing screams nearly made the neighbours call the police.

The beating went on for some time, when Mom walked in, her eyes red from crying. She froze the moment she saw me.

She stared into my eyes. “You’re… you’re…”

I raised my hand, waving it at a 45-degree arc. “Hi Mom. Hi Dad.”

Dad froze too, his hand gripping the golf club trembled slightly. “When did the switch happen?”

Mom went to the kitchen and poured a glass full of kiwi juice, but Dad stopped her halfway. “Honey, things are pretty messy right now. Why don’t we let him be our son for now, at least until we’ve sorted things out with the new school…”

Mom slapped him across his face. “Tong Yichuan, are you insane?”

Dad clutched his cheek. “Why am I insane? This is what it’s for, isn’t it?”

“Look at what you’ve done! It’s because of you that our son thinks he can get away with whatever he does.” She grabbed the kiwi juice from him and handed it to me.

“Mom, please, don’t… don’t…” I started to cry, though I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because Mom’s expression seemed so unfamiliar, or maybe because I had a feeling that our time together will soon come to an end.

“Sweetheart, listen to me. You can’t spoil Tong Xin like this. When he does something wrong, he has to bear the consequences himself,” she said, placing the glass in my hand. “I’m so sorry. I should have stopped him when he made you take on the pain for his injuries.” She added that if things continued like this, who knows what Tong Xin might do next.

I held on to the glass of kiwi juice; my tears spilled into it, ricocheting on the liquid’s surface. Through my sobs, I said, “I just… I just don’t want to leave you like this.” I reached for Mom’s hand. “Can I… can I be your son for a little longer? Just for one night. Please…”

—–

The world had changed so much. Tong Xin’s room seemed to have been completely renovated. It’s now filled with outer space themes and elements, I heard that his new dream was to become an astronaut.

It’s strange, I thought. A virtual programme’s dream is to be a mother’s son, even if it’s only for a day. But the dream of a human child was to soar through the skies, away from this planet with nothing to hold him back. I spotted a dusty shoebox in the corner. In it was a deck of flashcards, the ones I used when I first came into the world and learnt to read. I tried not to focus on it, but my eyes drifted there anyway.

Mom had endless things to gush about when it comes to Tong Xin, she talked about how he hadn’t followed the standard path through school and still carried many of his bad habits from his early childhood, a lot of things that might seem cute in a young child lose its charm at nine years old. He needed to learn how to behave like kids his age. But it seemed that he was always missing the mark, or maybe he was deliberately letting himself……

I saw that the elephant’s trunk had fallen off, and the giraffe’s neck was broken. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I reassured myself. I’m nine years old now, and I can tell an elephant and a giraffe apart. A 9-year-old doesn’t need flashcards anymore—what he need is the spaceship models that embody his far-flung dreams.

Mom kept talking about her worries. Tong Xin’s friends made her uneasy. He had started school late, and was older than his classmates, so he didn’t get along well with them. He often hung out with their neighbour, Abby’s kid. But, she said, that kid was different now—not like when they were younger. Mom couldn’t put her finger on it, but something was just off about him.

A neighbour once told Mom she had seen that kid feeding stray cats with food that had lit firecrackers hidden in it. Mom had warned Tong Xin about the kid, but soon enough, the two of them were playing together again. With no other kids of his age around, she had no choice but to turn a blind eye.

As I listened to Mom’s worries, I reached under the bedsheet and pulled out something that had been pressing against me—it was the toy dinosaur that I had longed for when I first left the hospital, hanging down from the ceiling within hundreds of balloons. Sadly, it was missing its front claws and tail. Its jaw, as if dislocated, with menacing teeth dangling from it, looked as pitiful as it could be.

“Why is this still here? Didn’t we throw it out?” Mom took the dinosaur from me and replaced it with a stuffed bear.

The broken dinosaur was tossed into the trinket box, and through a gap in the lid, I saw a tuft of light blue fuzz peeking out—it’s the little blanket that I got from Mom for Christmas.

In the middle of our bedtime story, a phone call pulled Mom away—she had to go up to the study to take care of some work. I fished out the broken dinosaur and the dandelion blanket from the trinket box and climbed into bed. On the nightstand was Tong Xin’s sketchbook, filled with drawings of worlds I had never been a part of.

My gaze lingered on a brightly coloured drawing of a school field trip. “Goodnight,” I whispered to myself.

I think… I must have died. Tong Xin was getting better by the day, and with each passing day I felt myself slipping further away from this world. Now that my mission was completed, my existence was unnecessary. In fact, my presence only enabled him to evade responsibility, knowing that I could take over him whenever he needed. Perhaps I should feel lucky that I’m a virtual programme, for whom death signifies completion, and is the ultimate honour.

I’ve seen some movies and know that when humans die, their memories allegedly flash before their eyes like a roll of film. But the death of a virtual consciousness is just silence—an endless, calm, radio silence. It’s like a wall that one’s instinctively familiar with, one that stretched infinitely high, upward, downward, and outward in every direction. And I… I am slowly merging into the wall we call “Death”.

—–

What is that sound?

I found myself curled up tightly in the dark, submerged in a transparent liquid. There was no light, no air, and distorted sound waves passed through layers of barriers, penetrating my consciousness. It was a terrifying scream that woke me up. It was filled with fear—a trembling voice of helplessness.

I opened my eyes slowly.

I saw… I saw a dishevelled girl beneath me, her body trembling, her soft, pale face smeared with sand and dirt. I reached out, wanting to remove the grass tangled in her hair, but I couldn’t stop myself from screaming with her…

In front of us, Tong Xin’s friend—Abby’s child that Mom was talking about—stood there with a wicked grin on his face. The flash of a camera went off with a ‘click!’, and the piercing light felt like a knife stabbing into my brain. The pain nearly overwhelmed all of my senses. Using the last bit of strength I had, I managed to roll off from the girl, collapsing onto my knees, my head smashing hard against the concrete ground. The distant echo of their raised voices filled the room, but all I could hear was the steady thrum of my own pulse, drowning out everything else.

A lot happened after that. I’m not sure which was real, and which was my imagination.

I saw Dad raising his fist. I saw Mom holding me as she cried and cried. I saw countless unfamiliar faces, cursing me, spitting on me. Those faces grew thinner and more brittle, turning into grotesque human-skin masks in my head.

Demonic shadows clung to me like maggots, lurking in the corners of the lamp, the chair, and the desk, waiting for the chance to devour me. Suddenly, a huge shadow monster attacked me, and I jolted awake to find that it was just a nurse pulling the curtain beside my hospital bed.

I heard the doctor talking with my parents. He assured them that he was willing to do everything in his power to keep this matter contained—as the first batch of subjects that benefited from virtual consciousness recovery, everything about Tong Xin must be perfect.

I heard Mom’s sorrowful voice, crying as she said, “But he did something wrong. My son did something wrong.”

“What would you like to do about it, then?” The doctor asked, a hint of unease hidden in his calm tone.

“Honey,” Dad’s voice was dark and sombre, “You’re not planning on turning him in, are you? He’s already fourteen. This crime would send him to juvenile detention.”

“Making him take responsibility for what he did is the only way to turn him into a better person,” Mom insisted.

Dad’s voice grew equally agitated. “Are you even his real mother? Instead of choosing a destructive path that ruins both parties, would you even care to consider better alternatives?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve already settled it with the girl’s parents in private,” Dad said.

There was a heavy thud, followed by Mom’s furious voice, “How could you do that? Why can’t you understand that the reason Tong Xin is like this today is because of your overindulgence? You are the one who ruined our son.”

“You think I’m the one who really ruined him?” Dad retorted with a cold laugh. “If it weren’t for your insistence on the divorce, would Tong Xin have been so rebellious?”

“The biggest regret of my life,” Mom’s voice was as cold as ice, rolling across the floor, “is not divorcing you the moment I found out you were cheating on me.”

The doctor rose to leave, telling them to come to an agreement between themselves before notifying him.

Silence. Endless, suffocating silence, until Dad’s phone rang and broke the oppressive atmosphere.

“Doctor, wait!” Dad called out, rushing after him and holding him back. Everyone in the room stared, startled by Dad’s abrupt change in tone. He had been defensive just moments before, but something in him seemed to have shifted. The restless footsteps shattered the icy tension that Mom’s words had created.

“I’ve been thinking…” His voice was uneven, and a sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. “Perhaps… my wife is right. Maybe it’s time to let Tong Xin take responsibility for what he’s done.”

Before anyone could ask, Mom found the answer to his sudden change of attitude on the internet.

“You bribed the girl’s parents, and they recorded it and posted it on social media?”

“We’re so unlucky,” Dad said, furious. “They took the money, for crying out loud. It’s just bad luck.” I heard short, hurried footsteps—Dad was pacing. “My manager just called me and said that I’ve been replaced for the overseas project. If I can’t correct my reputation, I’ll lose my job.”

“You’re insane! My son is not a tool for you to bring fame and fortune, and he’s definitely not a bargaining chip to save your job!” Mom said, shoving him toward the door. “Get out of here. I don’t want to see you ever again.”

“Honey, honey, calm down. Listen to me—just one thing, that’s all I ask.” Dad struggled, trying to put another word in, “We can ask the doctor to reawaken the virtual consciousness. We didn’t remove it the previous time, we had just kept it locked behind Xin’s brain. We can ask the doctor to do his thing and let the virtual consciousness take over our son’s juvenile detention. Our son’s still a minor, so it might not leave a permanent record, you know. And even if it does, it won’t be easily accessible. Once this all blows over, we can still have our son back!”

Mom froze in her actions, she stepped back and stared at him like she was looking at a stranger. Her voice was eerily calm as she said, “From now on, Tong Xin is my son and mine alone. His life will have nothing to do with you. And the divorce papers will be sent to you through my lawyer.” She finished speaking and politely ushered Dad and the doctor out of the room.

The silhouette of Mom behind the curtain was so frail it broke my heart. She stood there silently for a long time, before gathering the courage to wipe her tears and walk toward me. I quickly closed my eyes and pretended to sleep, though I desperately longed to reunite with her. She had chosen to lock me away in Tong Xin’s head instead of removing me, and I didn’t want to do anything that might upset her.

It was then that Dad returned to the room with a worse news, the girl Tong Xin harassed had slit her wrists and committed suicide.

I don’t know what Mom said to Dad after that. All I know is that she locked the door and walked decisively toward me.

Mimicking Tong Xin’s habits, I slowly opened my eyes and saw Mom standing over the bed, a pillow in her hands, so close to my face. The next second, the pillow came crashing down!

The suffocation caused violent convulsions. I fought my instincts, staying pressed against the bed, resisting the urge to cry for help or grasp her hands. But then, a strength that wasn’t mine surged from within, and “I” grabbed her wrist, slowly pulling it away; my nails dug deep into her skin.

Mom was hurt. The thought entered my mind, but I struggled to let go, my fingers only gripping tighter. I heard my voice, though it wasn’t really mine, croak out, “Mom… Mommy…”

The suffocating darkness swallowed me whole, promising only endless stillness—no more pain, no more separation.

The introduction of virtual consciousness technology transformed the treatment of coma patients, offering hope to many families but also sparking fierce controversy. One of the most debated cases was of a mother who murdered her son herself, one she had fought so hard to bring back to life.

It was during a volunteer shift at the prison when I saw her again, her hair was already streaked with silver.

“I have to atone for my sins,” she refused my help after she’d accidentally knocked over a box of cloths.

“What sins do you have?”

She looked at me, then lowered her head again to pick up the heavy cloths from the floor.

I retreated to a corner, watching her movements from the corner of my eye, searching for a trace of the beauty that she once had.

In the few encounters we had, I never managed to get to know her more personally. In fact, my enthusiasm seemed to irritate her. I thought she would start to ignore me, but she approached me one day, asking for my help to anonymously donate the money she earned through her work to a charity that supported victims’ families. She could have donated through the prison’s channels, but she didn’t want the money to go through that.

I agreed to her request, and on my next visit, I brought her the donation certificate.

After that, we would occasionally exchange a few words. Through her words, I slowly pieced together her story. She wasn’t just atoning for the sin of murdering her son—she also carried the burden of his sins on her shoulders.

That was why she didn’t take her own life after she did what she had done. From that moment on, every day, every second she lived was spent in atonement.

—–

The fact that I’m still alive is a miracle too.

Training a usable virtual consciousness is an expensive process. Usually, after the treatment completion, the consciousness would be recovered, reset to its default settings, before being used again.

However, virtual consciousnesses that were involved in major incidents like mine would typically be destroyed. I was saved thanks to another experimental project, giving me a chance to “live” again with my memories. The cost was that I could never speak of my “past.”

The reason I came here was because of that moment—when she held the pillow over me, there was a brief hesitation. I believe she was listening, trying to discern whether the one beneath her hands was her son or me.

I wanted to know the answer, but I never managed to ask.

Now that the experiment is concluding, my “life” would also be coming to an end. Before saying goodbye, I told her that this would be my last time volunteering at the prison. I said to her, “You remind me of my mother, could I call you ‘Mom’ just once?”

The sun shone through the fanlight and fell behind her, casting her entire face in the shadow. Her expression was hard to see, but I could see the tears falling from her eyes as she wept, silently, for a long, long while.